They said he was born for the road, that he had started driving as soon as his feet could reach the peddles.
His father had owned an auto shop in Sicily and his mother was a wealthy heiress to an up-and-coming motor company. When he was thirteen – still so young and naïve – his parents were killed in a crash with an intoxicated driver and he was put into his grandfather's custody.
He was a man that had no interested in children, not even his own daughter and even less so for his grandson. So, still young and still grieving, he was sent to a boarding school on the coast. It was there that he met Abelio – who would later be known as Verde.
After four years of sneaking out to attend races on the backstreets and through industrial districts, he was racing and he was winning.
He was 17 when he crashed.
He was racing over bridge in Palermo when he was hit from the side and launched in to the water below.
He nearly died.
But as soon as he possibly could, he was back on the road.
A new name and a new start.
While he had been recovering, Abelio had worked tirelessly on an vintage car he had gotten for cheap. The tacky car that would soon become legend was what earned him the moniker Vere.
Reborn's reputation grew and after he was disowned, he and Verde teamed up with – a now disbanded – group known Il Prescelti Sette.
They raced together until they split up when Reborn was 26; when racing became nothing more than a hobby and the others lost their passion.
It was only six months later that he and Verde picked up shop and moved to Japan.
And Raitoningu Mota was born.
Having a car in the city was a waste. Unless, of course, you drifted.
It was about two hours until people would start rolling in for the race and they took full advantage of that fact.
It was rare that they actually got a moment of peace with all the kids – they would always be kids in Reborn's mind – running around.
They pulled up to where the race would begin and Verde turned and grabbed a plastic bag from the backseat.
The mountain, the touge, was one of Reborn's favorite places in Japan and, when they had the time, the pair would drive up to relax or for Reborn to drift while Verde held on for dear life.
They sat on the hood of the green car as they ate sloppily prepared sandwiches and reveled in the silence that would soon be disturbed.
"If you're riding get up here, if not get out of the way."
Reborn watched the crowd part from several different directions as the drivers came forward before briefly looking over his shoulder where Verde was lounging against the green '64 Lusso Berlinetta and nursing a can of coffee.
The man nodded in response.
Five racers lined up at the starting mark. Only three of which he knew personally.
"Why aren't you racing, old man?" the kid – Lambo – shouted, his curly haired head sticking out the window of his car.
Reborn's eye twitched and he knew that Verde was chuckling behind him.
Lambo had just entered high school and if he wasn't one of Tsuna's kids he would have been barred from the race. The kid had been hell-bent on racing him since they had met when the kid was even more of a kid.
It was aggravating, to say the least.
Verde found it hilarious.
The Hibari kid was a pretty decent racer despite his excessively aggressive driving. He was also another one of Tsunayoshi's people – the Ten-kai – and didn't actually work or go to school. Honestly, all the kid did was fight and ride.
"Ready or not," he paused for dramatic effect. Engines revved and the people cheered, "It's time to ride!"
As the cars shot forward, Reborn switched off the microphone and went to stand by Verde who immediately handed over his coffee.
"Is Tsunayoshi coming?" Verde took the can back after Reborn to a sip.
"He's probably here already."
They had known Tsunayoshi since he was a child – some 25 years. When they moved to Japan, they had met a spunky delinquent just out of college. It wasn't until some years later that they learned Hanako – or rather Nana – was the seventh leader of the infamous Ten-kai and would later pass it down to Tsuna.
Tsunayoshi – who was basically his son – had been raised around cars and rather questionable individuals even if it wasn't until he was in middle school that he was officially introduced as her heir.
Try as they might – no matter their location – they always, somehow, found themselves involved in organized crime be it yakuza or the gangs of Sicily.
Somethings seemed to be inevitable.
"You think?" Verde handed the can back to Reborn after finishing it off. The man reflexively crushed it and tossed it into the open window of the car.
"Of course. He's probably at the finish. No way would he let the kid ride the touge without him."
Verde hummed in agreement.
Reborn leaned back against the car and lit up a cigarette allowing the cacophony of the crowd wash over him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Verde watching him intently and, without a word, Reborn slowly lifted his arm and rested it across his shoulders – it would be at least 10 minutes until the racers hit the finish mark.
"Bianchi's girl is around here somewhere," Reborn took a drag and Verde leaned into his side.
Verde got along well with the girl from Bianchi's shop. She was smart and knew her way around an engine – two things he valued above all else.
"But not Bianchi?"
Reborn puffed out a cloud of smoke, "Said she had a date."
"You think?"
"She does get out," he paused, "occasionally."
Reborn barked a laugh and passed over his cigarette.